I've been having one of the best years of my life: I've been working like mad tending bar & waiting tables, and skiing every spare second, and the rest of my time is spent with the incredible people I'm fortunate enough to call my crew. :D
And now, nearing my third week in the hospital, I'm still managing to stand placing this utopia on hold:
I've been diagnosed with Crohn's Disease, and I'm not responding to treatement.
It's all to be taken in stride - I spent the first two and a half weeks and Memorial Hospital, and they just couldn't quite get in together. The individual Drs, nurses, and nutritionist must be very capable people; but there was no direction, no leader, no one who really had a clue as to what to do when I just wouldn't improve. So I languished until we were face with an ultimatum: the option of staying at Memorial and submitting to surgery there, or transferring to Portland to attempt a "rescue" therapy before cutting me open.
And here I sit. More x-rays and tests have been completed, but I don't yet know the results. But I now have a Doctor and a specialist, and quite a bit more confidence in the actions and choices carried out and presented to me. I'm going to require a T pack (I believe it's called?) - basically a connection in to my system to deliver nuitrients, take blood, and access whatever they need, with out poking dozens more holes in my bruised-all-to-shit-arms. I look like a junky, but I will recover. But I'm not sure when.
This is all so strange.